


Community Radio Host, rise up and become a legend.

by lady_daedalus



Category: Neon Genesis Evangelion, Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Crack Crossover, Crossover, Humor, M/M, The Kawotrio, hopefully, karlshaun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-03
Updated: 2015-11-03
Packaged: 2018-04-29 17:12:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5135918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_daedalus/pseuds/lady_daedalus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Old Woman Josie has a bone to pick with these shady foreign government agents who are always trying to harass her Angel friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Community Radio Host, rise up and become a legend.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Year of Evangelion! This was my Halloween Kawoshin project. As soon as I started watching NGE I said to myself, "These have to be the Night Vale Angels. There is no other explanation."

“And that, dear listeners, is why eggs are empirically the most terrifying member of the vegetable food group,” Cecil said with a little finger wag that, this being a radio broadcast, no one could see save for the Sheriff’s Secret Police. Far off in their floating sky fortress painted to resemble a cardboard cloud, the Secret Police members assigned to monitor him for the day nodded knowingly. One of them made a little tick on his checklist in the box next to the caption “Citizen is properly updated on the most recent nutritional threats.”  

“Alfred Hitchcock was wisely afraid of eggs,” Cecil said. “We can only imagine how long he might have lived had he treated librarians with the same level of caution.” He paused for a few seconds’ respectful silence. Then he continued, “Other celebrities who have joined the campaign to raise awareness of the dangers of eggs include… King Henry VIII, King Louis X, King Louis XIII, King Louis XIV, King Louis MCLVII, and King Louis 001-20394939. You can view the informational videos they have done for the ‘Eggs? More Like Murder Shapes’ project on the Night Vale Community Radio website. This concludes today’s edition of the Children’s Fun Fact Science Corner. Oh. What’s this?” 

A thick cloud of flies ramming themselves all at once against the studio door let Cecil know that he had just received an update for the broadcast. He squinted his eyes at the window. “Station Management has just informed me that…” he waited for the flies to finish laying their eggs to spell out their message on the door before he read, “an impromptu protest has just broken out at the home of Old Woman Josie. That’s strange.” He swiveled his chair to face the calendar of events delivered to every Night Vale citizen’s desk during the city’s mandatory biweekly Existential Screaming. “This isn’t on the list of official impromptu protests scheduled by the Sheriff’s Secret Police for this week. I wish I could send Intern Dylan to go check it out, but… well. He’s a little busy interning in the afterlife now, and they offer better benefits for ghosts over there than we can here at our humble studio. 

“Listeners, it is my duty as your community radio host to provide you, the citizens, with the most accurate news that City Council sees fit to broadcast. Thus, I myself will go to this impromptu impromptu protest to report. In the meantime, please enjoy this looped recording of beloved actor Tom Hanks reciting your deepest fears to the beat of Carly Rae Jepsen’s hit single ‘I Really Really Really Really Really Really Fear Death,’ the video for which, of course, he starred in earlier this year and which, of course, you can view at your leisure on the Night Vale Community Radio website. For Premium Members only, though! So cough up some money… Literally, work those muscles in your larynx that access the secret emergency coin purse that _every_ Night Vale citizen had surgically implanted last year, and just cough away until you hack up a sizable pile. There _shouldn’t_ be any blood involved, but if there is, please don’t hesitate to keep that to yourself. Those shady government surgeons worked hard on that, after all. You don’t want to hurt their feelings. All right, Night Vale. I’ll see you soon. Well, figuratively. The Sheriff’s Secret Police will see you soon, literally.” 

_Several minutes later_

“Aaaaaand we are back, listeners!” Cecil chirped as he readjusted his headphones to sit better on the skull shape he had chosen for the day (slightly more conical than average). “I’m standing in front of Old Woman Josie’s house _right now_ watching the action unfold. It appears that the source of the protest is none other than… Old Woman Josie herself. Apparently, some people from a far away shady government organization keep harassing her angel friends, who of course do not exist, and ‘Josie is not having it anymore, do you hear?’ said John Peters - you know, the farmer? - about fifteen seconds ago. He’s here, too, by the way. As are most of you, listeners, from what I can see. Huh. It makes me wonder a little bit why I’m even bothering to do this.” 

Cecil began to elbow his way through the crowd so that he could get to the front for some quotes from the instigator herself. As he did so, he continued to read from the notes Station Management had given him before he had departed. “According to my notes here, this particularly shady government agency hails from a faraway place named…” he squinted at the glowing eldritch characters on the paper “… Ja… Japin? Jaypan? Uh, it’s spelled J-A-P-A-N, and I believe it rhymes with ‘Chapin’, as in, Harry Chapin, the celebrated folk singer-slash-alchemist. Listeners, I’ve never heard of this place; in fact, I have my suspicions that it may be entirely fictional, like the fictional state of Michigan. But let’s hear what the shady government agents themselves have to say about it.”

He wriggled his way through the last line of people blocking him from the spectacle and hopped up onto Old Woman Josie’s porch, where the shady (possibly fictional) government agents, Josie herself, and one of Josie’s officially nonexistent angel representatives, named Erika (the sensitive one), were all looking very stern. Cecil sidled up to the person closest to him. “I’m speaking now to one of the members of the foreign organization. It’s a bit hard to describe what he looks like -”

“It’s not that hard,” the man said.

“-Buuuuut if I had to describe him, I would say he gives off a… mmm… a ‘negligent parent’ sort of vibe. Welcome, Your Negligence! What brings you to our fair desert community?” 

The man made a vague gesture that clearly communicated more than it appeared to, because the woman standing next to him rolled her eyes and took his place in front of the microphone. 

“Oh,” said Cecil. “I guess that’s that, then. I am _now_ speaking with the woman accompanying him. She has dark hair, and she looks like the stereotypical 50s housewife; very intimidating, probably very good at her job, and likely knows how to use a wide array of firearms, you know, that old archetype. And what is _your_ name, madam?” 

“Katsuragi Misato,” said Katsuragi Misato. 

“That’s a lovely name. And what brings you to our fair desert community, Katsuragi Misato?” 

Misato pointed to the sky, where several large specimens of the angel population hovered. “We are here to stop the Angels from wiping out humanity, and we managed to track them down to this spot, but _she_ -” Misato pointed to Old Woman Josie “-won’t let us do our job.” 

“Oh listeners,” Cecil sighed into the microphone, “They seem like such nice people and I’m… not sure how to break to them what we all know: that _Angels do not exist_.” Above the crowd, the shiny blue octahedron floating there shrieked deafeningly in approval. 

“Ahhh, such a beautiful song,” Cecil said dreamily. 

“Isn’t it?” said Old Woman Josie. “And to think, these people can’t appreciate the beauty of it and need to come all the way here to harass poor Erika.” She shook her head and tutted disapprovingly, hoping to guilt trip the shady foreign government agents into backing down, as she had done so many times with the shady government agents here in Night Vale. But alas, they were not swayed. They mostly looked confused.

“ _Who_ ,” asked Misato, “is Erica?” 

Both Cecil and Old Woman Josie groaned in exasperation. Next to Old Woman Josie, Erika (the sensitive one) made a gurgling noise that probably conveyed a similar meaning. 

“Not _Erica_ ,” Cecil said, dragging out the syllables to showcase just how ridiculous they were. “ _Erika_. With a _k_.” He quickly turned to mutter into his microphone, “Did you hear that, listeners? Pfffffft. ‘Erica.’ What nonsense, am I right?” 

Misato, who had overheard this (Cecil was not the most subtle of creatures, as Steve Carlsberg could attest), was not pleased in the slightest. “I’m sorry,” she said coolly, “Who is _Erika_?”

“Erika,” said Old Woman Josie, gesturing grandly to Erika (the sensitive one) standing next to her. 

“Erika,” said Old Woman Josie, opening her front door to reveal Erika (the sarcastic one) changing the kitchen light bulb.

“Erika,” said Old Woman Josie, pointing to one of her tattoos on her arm that depicted Erika (the funny one). The tattoo of Erika (the funny one) waved at them in a friendly manner, although it was a bit difficult to tell, since Erika (the funny one) didn’t have any facial features. Most of the Erikas didn’t.

“Erika,” said Old Woman Josie, pointing aggressively up at the sky to Erika (the blue octahedral one). 

“ _Laaaaaaaaaaaaa_ ,” sang Erika (the blue octahedral one) in response.

“Erika,” said Old Woman Josie, sweeping her arm toward the lake that appeared every so often next to her house, depending on its mood, where Erika (the aquatic, vaguely prehistoric-looking one) was frolicking.

“ _Erika,”_ finished Old Woman Josie, spreading her arms out in a sort of all-encompassing embrace.

“We did not bring the Eva all the way here for this,” Misato grumbled. 

“Sorry? Could you repeat that? What’s the Eva?” Cecil asked. 

Misato just pointed behind him.

“Goodness. Listeners, I don’t know how, but I seem to have overlooked the gigantic robot standing in opposition to Josie’s friends here. I mean, you can probably see it, but in case you can’t, it’s very, very tall, and its colors are neon green and the dark purple of a sentient patch of haze before it fades out of existence. I haven’t seen anything quite like it since last week’s giant robot-themed butter sculpting competition.” He paused when he felt a tug at his shirtsleeve.

“Somebody is trying to get my attention,” Cecil narrated, turning around to see his new conversational partner. “Uh, he is a boy of about… fourteen or so, with eyes the color of freshly hatched bloodstones and hair the color and texture of a Samoyed puppy. Old Woman Josie, is he one of your… special friends?” 

Old Woman Josie nodded.

“And what is your name, Old Woman Josie’s friend?” 

“Kaworu,” the boy said.

“That’s an odd way to pronounce ‘Erika,’” said Cecil, “but I understand being young and trying different avenues of finding yourself. In fact, for a while during my childhood, I spelled my name C-E-C-E-L as an experiment. I also had a phase where I walked around with spider legs growing out of my back, like many teenage boys do. But I digress. What did you want to tell me?” 

Kaworu nodded toward the robot. “That’s my boyfriend.” 

Cecil looked at him. He looked at the robot. He looked at the robot some more. He looked back at Kaworu. He blinked at the robot. The robot loomed back. “Well,” Cecil said, “to be honest, I’m not sure how that works, but I want you to know that whatever your preferences are, we at the Night Vale Community Radio station support that. If you two have found a way to make it work, then that is all that matters.” 

“Thank you,” said Kaworu. Then his eyes caught sight of something in the middle distance and he frowned. 

Cecil followed his gaze, continuing the broadcast. “I’m looking… I’m looking off into the distance, and I see… It appears to be a giant spider crawling up the Arby’s sign and trying to use its foremost legs to touch the mysterious lights that hover above the Arby’s.”

“Oh dear. I hope Matarael isn’t too disappointed when they can't catch them,” said Kaworu.

“Who’s Matarael?”

“Erika (the spider one),” Kaworu corrected. 

“Ah,” said Cecil. “Back to what you were saying before, though, I’d like to know what your thoughts are about these shady foreign government agents attempting to come between you and your boyfriend. Would you mind sharing?” 

In the background, the shady foreign government agent man and Old Woman Josie’s negotiations were, despite the pair’s maintaining their even tones, quickly escalating into the sort of discussion that’s not very diplomatic at all.

Kaworu tilted his head from side to side, much in the manner that all Night Vale citizens did before speaking to clear their minds of any noise and thus ensure that the Sheriff’s Secret Police could get a good reading on the disparities between their thoughts and their words. Cecil quietly marveled at this small gesture; it was amazing how well Angels could assimilate themselves into human culture. Angels, of course, did not exist, but if they _did_ , hypothetically, such strictly hypothetical behavior would surely not fail to impress. Cecil breathed a small sigh of relief. He’d almost gotten carried away, there. So as not to let it happen again, he promptly shut his eyes.

“I have just shut my eyes,” he announced into the microphone. 

“Are you all right?” Kaworu’s voice asked gently. He had a very pleasant voice.

“Quite all right,” said Cecil. “Are you aware of the saying that ‘seeing is believing?’” 

“Yes.” 

“In my earlier thoughts, I’m afraid I got a bit too close to deluding myself into believing that Angels might possibly exist,” said Cecil. “But now I have firmly closed my eyes. And so, if I cannot see them, then I cannot believe in them, nor can I be punished by the City Council for any crossover between thoughts categorized under the ‘Angel’ classification and thoughts under the ‘Existence’ classification.” 

“Oh. That’s clever.” 

“Yes, it is. But I’m sorry, I’ve interrupted you. Please, go on.” 

“It is a bit frustrating. But I know that it’s not Shinji-kun’s fault. He’s sweet, really. It’s just that Ikari-san’s his father and all - uh, I am pointing to the man whom you first tried to interview,” Kaworu said, when he saw that Cecil was resolvedly keeping his eyes shut. “So poor Shinji-kun keeps getting pulled into these unfortunate altercations against his will.” 

 Cecil pictured the man. He pictured the robot. He went back and forth between the two images for a while, then got bored and spent a few seconds composing texts to Carlos, then he went back to mentally flipping between slides of the man and the robot. “That man is your boyfriend’s father?” 

“That is what I said, yes.” 

“Again, I am not entirely sure how that works,” Cecil wondered aloud. Here in Night Vale, things usually didn’t stray too far from the “ball of fingers” and “adult man’s right hand” variations on physical birthing forms. But then again…  

“But then again,” he continued, once he’d thought it over a bit, “I don’t know how things in this mysterious land of Jaypin work in general, so it would be rather culturally insensitive of me to judge. Now that you mention it, I thought that guy gave off ‘negligent parent’ sort of vibes.” 

“Indeed,” Kaworu’s voice confirmed. 

“The important thing, son - and I’m calling you that in the figurative sense, unless you are my son from an alternate timeline, which has been known to happen on several occasions here - is that you… hang on,” Cecil’s eyes were still closed, which meant he was grasping about rather fruitlessly in an effort to pat Kaworu’s head in a reassuring manner. Kaworu got the message and shifted himself over accordingly.

“Thank you. And listeners, in case you are wondering, his hair really does feel like a Samoyed puppy. Too bad they’re all extinct now; I bet they would be just adorable. Anyway, the important thing to remember, son, is that as long as you and your boyfriend are committed to one another, _you can make it work_. You know,” Cecil suddenly said in a much perkier tone, and Kaworu got the distinct impression that he had come to the subject about which he’d really wanted to talk this whole time, “I myself have a boyfriend.” 

“Is that so?” Kaworu said, deciding to humor him good-naturedly. 

“Yes. His name is Carlos, and he’s a scientist. He’s _very_ handsome. Would you care to see a picture?”

It was a good thing Kaworu agreed, because Cecil had the picture on his phone at the ready. It had become a bit of habit for him to show people Carlos’ picture in lieu of an introduction, only he hadn’t been able to do it in a while because he knew practically everyone in town, and people weren’t nearly as receptive to this method of greeting the third time around as they had been the first. Not that they’d been terribly receptive the first time, mind you.

“Ah yes, I see,” said Kaworu, and Cecil finally opened his eyes so that he could see his reaction. “Very handsome,” Kaworu added, nodding. Then he smiled a vaguely threatening sort of smile, although it was very friendly-looking on the surface, the kind of smile that all Night Vale kindergarten teachers wore as part of their work uniform. 

For many years, people have wondered: Just what _is_ the Cruel Angel’s Thesis prophesied for generations by infectious Japanese dance pop texts? On this day, Cecil Gershwin Palmer found out. Kaworu smiled his subtly menacing kindergarten teacher smile, looked back to Cecil from where he’d been studying Carlos’s perfect hair, and calmly said…

“… Shinji-kun is cuter.” 

 

“Listeners,” Cecil’s voice came back on the broadcast after several minutes of radio silence, “I have decided that I don’t care for Kaworu that much after all. He strikes me as the sort of person who would get along much better with people like _Steve Carlsberg_.”

He interrupted his flow for a moment to hiss “ _Steeeeve Carlsbeeeerg_ ” in varying degrees of disgust before he resumed his regular program. “And Old Woman Josie is in the middle of a very intense discussion at the moment - you can probably hear her yelling in the background - so I am instead going to talk to _this_ young gentleman. He appears to be about fourteen years old, has eyes the color of tastefully arranged viscera, and hair the color and windblown texture of a Samoyed puppy that has cruelly been forced to ride on the roof of a certain politician’s car.” Cecil was, of course, referring to Desert Bluffs mayor Pablo Mitchell, famed for his extreme irresponsibility in protecting the Samoyed puppy species.

“And what is your name, my friend?” Cecil asked, proffering the microphone. 

“Kaworu,” said Kaworu. 

“Would you, by any chance, happen to be related to that rather disrespectful young man with whom I was speaking earlier?” 

“In a way,” Kaworu said, echoing the pleasant timbre of Cecil’s first interviewee. “It’s complicated.”

“I understand,” said Cecil. “Ever since the dawn of inter-dimensional transportation, it has been very difficult for everyone to keep track of _all_ their relatives and their relations to them. So, Kaoru -”

“No,” said Kaworu. “Not _Kaoru_. _Kaworu_. With a W.” 

“My apologies. So, _Kaworu_ , that’s some awfully complex-looking sheet music you’re studying there. Are you in town for a concert?” 

“No, I’m just browsing and trying to pick the next duet I want to learn. I came here for the purpose of standing in solidarity with my siblings, but truthfully, I would much rather be back home playing duets with Shinji-kun.” 

 Before Cecil could ask any follow-up questions, a substantial tremor shook the ground as the giant robot, which had until now been standing by immobile, shifted itself into a kneeling position. 

“What’s this? The robot appears to be readying itself for something… Old Woman Josie and the shady foreign government agents are not arguing anymore… Could this be the beginning of a battle? I’m not sure what’s going on, but rest assured, listeners I’m going to find out for you,” Cecil declared. “In the meantime, let me take you to… 

[“The Weather.” ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SUamHEvVQy0)

“Whether the weather be cold, or whether the weather be hot. We’ll weather the weather, whatever the weather, whether we like it or not,” Kaworu could be heard reciting to himself just before the day’s weather began to play.

 

“Listeners,” Cecil said cheerfully. “It is with the utmost pleasure that I am able to inform you that Old Woman Josie and the shady foreign government agents have reached a consensus. The shady foreign government agents have agreed not to launch any more attacks against Erika (any of them), as long as Erika (all of them) remains here in Night Vale, and doesn’t destroy any more of Jaypin’s infrastructure or cause the apocalypse. Is that really the sort of mischief youand your ilk were getting up to over there, Erika (the blue octahedral one)?” he asked, addressing the floating blue octahedron above his headin question.

“ _Laaaaaaaaaaaa_ ,” replied Erika (the blue octahedral one). 

“Naughty Erika (the guilty ones),” Cecil chided. “No wonder these people were so upset with you! There is a time and place for pranks. Anyway, listeners, it seems that after coming to this conclusion, the shady foreign government agents have relayed the news to the pilot inside the robot, and they are now retrieving him, as they no longer have need of his services. Ohhhh,” he said, realization dawning on him as he saw the first Kaworu run past him to where the robot was kneeling. “ _That’s_ the boyfriend. That makes much more sense. Isn’t it a wonderful feeling when you realize that other cultures are not so different from ours?”

“I am now watching the emergence of a large, cylindrical capsule from the back of the robot’s neck… There is a hatch opening and… Listeners! There is indeed a person climbing down toward the ground! I haven’t seen anything quite like this since that time we constructed a giant mech for last year’s annual Destroy The Moon festival.” 

Kaworu, the one with the sheet music, made a small sound of distress. “Oh, please don’t do that,” he said, but Cecil appeared not to hear him.

“Kaworu, the first one, _Steve Carlsberg_ ’s new friend, is holding out his arms to assist with the final few steps of his descent… Yes, the pilot has reached the ground. The two of them are headed back this way, and they are holding hands… The pilot is another boy with hair the color of THE BROWNSTONE SPIRE and eyes the color of the Glow Cloud (All Hail, All Praise the Almighty Glow Cloud) when it is blue. Aw, listeners, they are walking past me at this moment, and they are an adorable couple. I mean, I am still very angry at the insinuation that anybody could be more perfect than Carlos, though.”

“Did Kaworu say that?” asked Kaworu (the musical one). “How rude.” He surveyed the passing couple and hummed thoughtfully. “Besides, my Shinji-kun is much cuter.” 

 

“Well, listeners,” said Cecil as he slid back into his chair at the studio, “Today has been a very eventful day indeed. Unfortunately, due to the surprise coverage of the impromptu impromptu protest, I only have time to answer one letter on my advice segment ‘Hey there, Cecil’ before I must leave you alone with the darkness of your own thoughts tonight. Ahem.” He snapped open the folded piece of paper on the top of his pile of “Hey there, Cecil” letters to be answered.

“This one comes from a listener who calls himself ‘Karl.’ For some reason, he has attached a picture of himself. He has eyes the color of ominously pulsing disembodied hearts, and hair the color and texture of a Samoyed puppy who missed a few strands on top when they were applying their hair gel. It reads: 

“ _Hey there, Cecil._

_The boy I like won’t pay attention to me!!! I’ve tried everything!!!!! I’ve tried following him into the shower, kissing him and then pretending I was just regulating his breathing, and not strangling cats in front of him!!!!! But he still ignores me?!? What do I do??? Help!!!!!!!!”_

Cecil made a “tsk-tsk” sort of sound, then, for good measure, he said, “Tsk-tsk. Karl, I can tell from your letter that you _really really_ like this boy. It sounds like you like this boy almost as much as popular singer Carly Rae Jepsen fears death. But you _need_ to remember that consent is key! Instead of following him into the shower, say something like, ‘I’m going to the shower. Aren’t you going to the shower?’ If he says he’s going to bed, you can ask, ‘With me?’ But - and I know this is hard, Karl - if he says no, then you must respect his boundaries. You sound like a very… enthusiastic sort of person. I hope this boy can learn to appreciate that enthusiasm. And if not, then there are _always_ his alternate reality selves. One of them is bound to click with you. Don’t lose hope!

“And listeners, that is all the time I have for you today. Please stay tuned for a special rebroadcast of the audio of every film noir movie ever made layered over one another. The nonexistent moon is beautiful tonight, but that means it is also at its maximum capacity to awaken the madness lying just below the surface of each one of our minds. So listeners, make sure you take care of yourselves. Only observe the moon through glasses of water and/or the subjective haze of your memory. I will see you again, figuratively, tomorrow. The Sheriff’s Secret Police will see you, literally, forever. And as always…

“Good night, Night Vale. Good night.” 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Today's proverb is: Congratulations!
> 
> I should add here that just because nobody in Night Vale has *seen* a Samoyed puppy, that does not mean Samoyed puppies are truly gone. They can be found, for instance... in the Dog Park.  
> First Kaworu is Anime Kaworu. It just occurred to me that I don't believe I've ever written for him before.
> 
> As always, you can come a-kawoshinning with me at lady-daedalus.tumblr.com


End file.
